


the sword for which the world would kneel

by shairiru



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mythology, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 06:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18382415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shairiru/pseuds/shairiru
Summary: The sword was no ordinary sword after all. It was forged with a sword spirit who would appear in its human form whenever it went to battle, causing havoc and annihilation on the field, never missing a single soul.Its name was Shintaro.





	the sword for which the world would kneel

**Author's Note:**

> Happy AkaMido Day!!! Have some sword boyfriend akamido au (:3

Legend has it that beneath the Akashi estate rests the legendary sword of the Hundred Years War. The sword, said to be wielded by the best swordsman in history, put an end to the long unrest between the human and non-human races. Its blade shines even without a source of light, so sharp that even the wind fears to sweep past by its side. The handful that survived a decisive swing from it have said that the sword seemed to have a mind of its own, passing judgment to its targets despite what its wielder thinks. But of course, this was true. The sword was no ordinary sword after all. It was forged with a sword spirit, who would appear in its human form whenever it went to battle, causing havoc and annihilation on the field, never missing a single soul.

 

Its name was Shintaro.

 

“Ever since its original owner died, Shintaro has never once woken up,” Seijuro’s father has told him once when he was only eight. He was only a curious boy then, finding himself in the presence of the sword, drawn to the basement where it was kept, pulled by some mysterious force. His father found him just before he was able to land his pudgy hands on the revered blade. “No one has ever been worthy. Not even the best of us.”

 

_ It hasn’t seen the best of us _ , Akashi’s young but clear mind thought,  _ It hasn’t seen me. _

 

Seijuro was a boy who was raised to be the best and grew up believing so. A lifeless sword not recognizing him? What a dishonor.

  
  
  


His mother told him, owning a legendary sword should be like owning any vicious creature. If one wanted for the vicious creature to recognize them, then one should show that he was more than an ‘owner’. One should show this creature – this sword – care and concern.  _ Treat it like you would treat a friend, and it’ll tame under your hand. _

 

Seijuro kept this advice to heart. Whenever he had time, he would visit the sword on the basement and talk to it as if he was talking to a person. Even though Seijuro was the son of the clan head, because of his skills and temperament, there really was no one he could call a  _ friend _ . Talking to the sword was no big deal: it could listen to whatever he had to day, and there was no chance it would say something he would disagree on. In some sense, the sword did become his friend. Seijuro only wondered if the sword considered him as such, too.

 

On one occasion, his mother weaved for him an ornament to hang on the hilt of the sword. During those days, her body has grown too weak that she could only accomplish little things.

 

“Maybe the sword will appreciate a small token?” she smiled as she put it on Seijuro’s small, rough palms.

 

Seijuro eagerly went to the basement and tied it around the hilt. The ornament was made from dark green rayon, and at the end was a white jade shaped like a crescent moon. It was the last thing his mother was able to create before she finally gave in to her illness.

  
  
  


His father told him, after his mother has passed, that the only way to tame a vicious creature was to show it who has the power. Vicious creatures have no sense of tenderness nor warmth, so would a legendary blade made for war. For years, Seijuro trained both his mind and his spirit. There were no trials he did not face, there were no enemies he did not pound in defeat. When he finally came of age, all of the land and all of the races knew to tremble at the sound of his name – Akashi Seijuro.

 

As per family tradition, and to acknowledge his skills, his father granted him ownership of Shintaro.

 

Yet, the cold blade that laid underneath his own home never seemed to recognize him.

“I place no hope in its awakening,” his father had told him, disappointment leaking from his tongue, “but it’s better to be exposed on the field than grow brittle in its sheath.”

 

From then on, Seijuro carried it on his back, never once parting with it even a meter away. He never used it either, for pulling it out of its sheath without it awakening to recognize him first seemed like cheating. It was against Seijuro’s principle. He won more battles, having a mundane sword on his hand as a weapon and a legendary sword on his back as decoration. The sword almost became a part of his body, no one would see Seijuro without it. A part of him believed that if the sword became familiar with him, if it saw how undefeated he was on the battlefield, then maybe it’ll finally give in and awaken. Seijuro’s spirit couldn’t be shaken –  _ I will make this sword mine. _

  
  
  


But as heaven would have it, not one who always wins could guarantee he could never get defeated.

 

Seijuro was confident he had turn over the plan in his head a hundred times. All the possibilities and impossibilities were accounted for. But they were still overpowered, their numbers diminished into nothingness. Only a quarter remained alive, and by the looks of things, it wouldn’t be for much long.

 

As Seijuro looked at the unexpected trump card their enemies brought out, as time seemed to freeze to mock him in his arrogance, as his blood freely flowed from his wounds, his father’s words echoed back in his head:  _ No one has ever been worthy, not even the best of us. _

 

Seijuro closed his eyes in silent surrender.

 

_ It’s not yet over! _

 

A strange, deep voice suddenly sounded in his head. Just then, the wind seemed to whistle, as if it was sliced by a very sharp blade. The weight on his back lightened, and the surrounding suddenly fell into an eerie silence.

 

Seijuro opened his eyes and got a vague vision of a tall man in flowing robes standing before him, his long dark hair tied up high on his head, swaying with the wind. The dark sky opened up, the crescent moon above shining a light on the sudden stranger that saved his life. He wielded a strangely familiar but unfamiliar sword before him, its blade even shining brighter than the moon. The name slipped off his tongue before his mind had the chance to work: “Shintaro.”

 

He never knew if the sword – no, the man – heard him or not, for as soon as he said his name, he strode from the spot he was standing, moving as swiftly and as surely as a storm cloud, and suddenly, the enemies that have been overpowering them were all defeated in a flash. There wasn’t even any clashing of metal swords that rang in the night air, Shintaro moved too fast for them to counteract.

 

When the wind had settled, the battlefield had been soaked in their enemies’ blood.

 

Seijuro was already standing, quickly recovering from his initial shock. This was the moment he had been waiting for all his life. Finally, the legendary sword has awakened. Yet, he still felt unsatisfied. Seijuro knew exactly why – the sword awakened when he was on the brink of death, as if the sword never believed he could survive and took it in its own hands to finish the job he was supposed to do.

 

It was a mockery.

 

But his remaining men were still kneeling on the ground, praises pouring out of their mouths.

 

_ Finally!  _ __  
_ The young master has awakened the sword!  _ __  
_ He saved us!  _ _  
_ __ They saved us!

 

Shintaro turned to face him then, and only Seijuro could see the knowing glance he threw his way.

 

_ Your men believe that you are their savior,  _ that voice spoke again in his mind,  _ do you really wish to be stubborn right now? _

 

His eyes widened. The sword could see through his thoughts!

 

But he made sense, to his own surprise. If Seijuro questioned the grounds on which the sword was awakened, his own men would see him weak and unworthy. It would bring shame to himself, and if his father knew, even more disgrace would fall upon his head.

 

_ I’m still not worthy of you _ , he thought.

 

The man only made a gesture in response, placing the sword before him to indicate that the battle was over. Another gust of swift cold wind grazed past the field, and in the next moment, the sword flew back to its sheath behind Seijuro, the man nowhere to be seen.

 

Seijuro gritted his teeth, a small smile lining his lips. His quest to win the legendary sword has still yet to end.

  
  
  


News of the legendary sword’s awakening spread through all of the races like a plague. In no time at all, the Akashi estate was brimming with guests inside, wanting to land a glance at the sword spirit; the outside hid several spies from the enemies who couldn’t even dream of stepping an inch inside the heavily guarded estate.

 

The sword spirit was not a social creature. He secluded himself inside the sword, never appearing in his human form again. But since he had been awakened, naturally, his thoughts were alive once more. And for some reason, the sword’s thoughts and Akashi’s could be connected in some imaginary space.

 

“Little boy, how are your wounds?” Shintaro’s voice sounded inside his head. Seijuro jolted in surprise. Having someone in his head would need time to get used to.

 

“I am not a little boy,” he answered calmly in his mind.

 

The sword didn't reply anymore. Feeling left hanging in the air, Seijuro continued on, “How come you only awaken now?”

 

“You needed me, and so I appeared.”

 

His words strike Seijuro by surprise. Why did it sound like a sword spirit harbored mortal emotions? A sword spirit was its master's weapon alone. Nothing but an animated object.

 

“For someone who hasn't met a sword spirit before, you think you know everything.”

 

Seijuro forces himself to calm, keeping negative emotions inside him was detrimental to his recovery. Besides, he remembered that he still had to make himself worthy. Going against this blade whom he wanted to be recognized by was probably not the best idea.

 

“Little boy,” the sword spoke again uninvited, “You are my owner now. You can’t just shut me out of your mind.”

 

“Then start by calling me by my name.”

 

The sword fell into silence, keeping quiet for so long that Seijuro thought it finally went back to sleep once more.

 

“It’s not my fault they named me after _ him _ ,” Seijuro added, knowing since then the significance of his name and the hope that the family had placed on him to awaken the legendary sword, “But rest assured, this name that I now carry, it wouldn’t be wasted on me.”

  
  
  


The first Akashi Seijuro was a man more known than the Emperor of the land in his time. He was so powerful, so brave, so renowned, that when the Imperial Court collapsed from the inside and he took the opportunity to overthrow the ruling monarch and rule instead, what remained of the country welcomed him with open arms. The victory he brought during the Hundred Years War was forever etched in the hearts of the people. For those that survived that era of great depression, he was a symbol of absolute victory. And alongside him was the legendary sword he had wielded. 

 

His rule was short, however. They said the power consumed him, made him lose himself. The legends have also said that it was because of this very reason that during a crucial time, the sword spirit that had been with him through thick and thin refused to heed his calls anymore. When the demon enemy raised its weapon against Akashi Seijuro, and when he called for his trusted sword, only silence was the reply that came back. Then came the blow that ended his years of lunacy.

 

The present Akashi Seijuro was now leading the clan in his father’s stead, four years after the reawakening of Shintaro. Ever since the day that he appeared in the middle of the battlefield, not once did he show himself again. It didn’t mean, however, that Seijuro was free from him. His quiet mind became a home for two.

 

Thankfully, this sword spirit would only speak up about important matters. Once, when one of Seijuro’s men suggested to feign an ambush on the insurgent fire wielder clan that threaten their allies near Aso, Shintaro couldn’t help but scoff, “The fire wielder clan will devour you even before you step an inch within their territory. Little boy, how come you have followers as air-headed as this? Is he truly a warrior of this clan?”

 

But of course, Seijuro was the only one to hear this. He agreed though, the hapless plan sounded really foolish. Aso was a vast place lined by chains of active volcanoes. No human lived within a mile of its borders. Only the very few friendly members of the fire wielder clan dare even breathe the air in that place, for the their loyalty to their blood was stronger than any connection in the world. Even if one side were friendly with the humans, as long as they did no harm, the ‘insurgent’ groups would never touch them.

 

The case for humans were different, however. One wrong move and their head would either roll on Aso’s slopes or their body would be thrown to the boiling magmas. It didn’t matter how great a fighter one was.

 

Seijuro appeased the sword in his mind, then lectured the person before him. Shintaro seemed satisfied, keeping quiet again throughout the whole duration of the meeting, only occasionally making subtle sounds of approval or disapproval. 

 

The sword’s inputs weren’t useless anyway, and in fact, Seijuro would seriously consider them from time to time. Eventually, the sword ended up as some sort of adviser for him. The rest of the clan acknowledged this, feeling blessed to have a legendary sword guide their ways.

 

As for Seijuro, he was still on the edge over the fact that the sword was still not calling him by his name.

 

“Why do you insist on calling me ‘little boy’?” he asked the sword while he was meditating in the middle of the Spirit Hall. “I’m already twenty-five.”

 

“To me, you would always be that little boy who came to the basement to tell me about your life, not even missing a single day,” the voice suddenly sounded soft and fond, immersed in reminiscing old memories, “You stopped coming after you gave me the jade ornament.”

 

The calm that Seijuro had been able to muster from his meditation trembled at the distant memory of his youth. He had never been able to return after he tied the jade ornament around its hilt because on that evening, his mother collapsed. He chose to stay by her side all day and all night since then. She passed on not long after, then his father honed him to the path of greatness. The sleeping sword had once been abandoned until Seijuro came of age.

 

“You were just a little boy then,” it continued to speak in his mind, “When I saw you again, I couldn’t recognize you anymore.”

 

He knew the sword wasn’t talking about his physical growth. “Loss changes a person.”

 

“I would know.”

 

Seijuro opened his eyes, suddenly finding an opening to a topic he had never once brought up in these years. “Your original owner, the man whom I share names with, what really happened to him?”

 

“Are the things you’ve heard not enough to create a general idea about it?”

 

“Those that talk about him now, no one of them was around during his time. And even if they were, no one knew him...no one knew him as much as you did. You were his constant companion. You know about the stories, then. Is it true?”

 

“You people put Seijuro on too high of a pedestal he himself wouldn’t dare step on.” Even though it was his own name that slipped out of Shintaro, it sounded very foreign, like a stranger whom he never had the chance to meet, “He’s just like everyone else. A little more intelligent, a little more skilled, yes, but he is still human. He has weaknesses. He could fail. But the world...they looked at him as if his every step was a path created by the gods, and that even a slight mistake was worthy to crush his reputation to pieces. Any human subjected to such tremendous pressure, no matter how great they are, was bound to fall.”

 

“They said when he needed you most, you didn’t aide him. If you’re so devoted, how could you do that?”

 

Shintaro let out a bitter laugh. “He didn’t bring me to battle on that day.”

 

“On such an important battle?”

 

Shintaro paused for a while, seemingly gathering his thoughts, then he spoke again, “Around that period, he had already shown signs of...not being himself. Though I had a physical form, I can only do so much. He has already pushed everyone else away, I tried not to oppose him further for fear that he’d be all alone. 

 

“But the battle with the demons shouldn’t have pushed through, it was an intricately laid trap all along. Seijuro knew of it, but he did not care. I tried to stop him but he did not listen. In his fury, he chained my blade and locked it in the palace. He went on to battle with a mundane sword. The next thing I knew, my spirit seemed to have been plucked with by something...as if my guts were pulled out by an invisible hand. There I knew...Seijuro had perished in the battle.”

 

Seijuro recalled the tall figure of Shintaro standing before him that time. He couldn’t help but think, if right now, Shintaro was also in that form, sitting in front of him, those dignified shoulders would be drooping, his straight back would be bent from an invisible weight, and his cold sharp face would be painted with the most melancholic of gray. Absentmindedly, he reached for the sword hung on his back, giving it a tender, assuring pat.

 

“There are many stories, they change from tongue to tongue. But it was written in the chronicles that the last words they heard from that man's mouth was the name of his sword. This is an established piece of history.” He had his own speculations too about how deeply their relationship went, but this Seijuro didn't bring it up anymore, “Even in his last breath, it was you he was thinking of. If you want to meet him again, then there’s reincarnation to hope for.”

 

Seijuro felt the sword become colder, as if its sorrow manifested itself as ice.

 

“With a soul as corrupted as his, there won’t be any chance for reincarnation.”

 

And Shintaro was a sword spirit. Spirits such as him that did not undergo the cycle of life and death had no chance either to cross the river to the afterlife. Losing his original owner was one thing; being awakened with the knowledge that it could never return to his wielder was a different torture to an immortal soul like him.

 

“Would you have rathered to not be awakened?”

 

“I tried really hard,” a bitter laugh reverberated in Seijuro’s mind, “But on a winter’s day over two decades ago, I was stirred up from my slumber.”

 

“Over two decades ago…”

 

“Don’t overthink too much. You are not Seijuro’s reincarnation. I would recognize his soul no matter what form he takes.”

 

“That’s good then,” Seijuro smiled to himself. It meant that when the time came that he’d be finally able to be worthy of the legendary sword, it would be because of who he was and what he had accomplished. 

 

The Akashi Seijuro of the past was no more than a bitter memory. He would make sure that he - the Akashi Seijuro of the present - would surpass whatever that person was able to accomplish.

  
  
  


During the past half century,  under the rule of a new imperial line, the warriors of the human clan that was led by the Akashis only had one goal: to achieve yet again the peace that the first Akashi Seijuro was able to obtain for the land when he ended the Hundred Years War. Humans dominate the land, but there were also minorities that they had to coexist peacefully with. Though many of the other clans were their allies, insurgents ran in abundance in the territories that weren’t under their jurisdiction yet: the mermaids in Karatsu who wished to have the sole jurisdiction of the Western Sea, the ice people of Sapporo who wished to bar humans from their island because of an incident from a thousand years ago, the mountain creatures of Hida who wanted to be left alone from the entire world, and the fire wielders of Aso who were the most assertive of their desire to dominate instead. 

 

These insurgent groups, though small, were able to scatter themselves. They were like weeds, sprouting wherever, needing to be controlled. As the Akashis were settled in Kumamoto, this was their area of jurisdiction. The mermaid and fire wielder clans thrive in this territory as well, and there were regular clashes.

 

Most of the times, the humans would win. But then, there were times that they wouldn’t.

 

Seijuro had to lead another mission: insurgent mermaids were reported to be present in some port towns that weren’t Karatsu. 

 

“If they have expanded this much, I’m afraid some alliances between the insurgent groups are forming,” Shintaro had said while Seijuro was planning. Not knowing anything else, they needed to get more information first.

 

“I was thinking that, too. And it could only be the fire wielders who could be helping them.”

 

“If it’s them you’re dealing with...be more cautious.”

 

Seijuro waited for Shintaro to add more to his words, but nothing came to his mind. Thinking nothing more of it, he continued devising a main plan and a handful of back-up plans. When night fell, with a few of his elite fighters, they went to observe themselves.

 

It was only supposed to be a reconnaissance. But somehow, the enemies got wind of their arrival. The moment they stepped on the borders of the port town, they were ambushed from all sides. It was like that moment in the field again. Despite all his planning, the heavens seemed to be failing Seijuro in purpose.

 

For the second time around, Shintaro appeared to save his life and the few others that were able to survive. Seijuro ordered to retreat before anyone else got killed.

 

Upon their return, Seijuro suffered humiliation from his own father.

 

“You bring nothing but dishonor!” he said, completely disregarding all the victories Seijuro had won for him. He only sat in front of the hall, their people sat on the sides. Seijuro was bent on the center, his forehead touching the floor. “The Akashis have long been trusted with the survival of the human race. The original bearer of your name brought peace to this land. How come you yourself bring death instead?” He pointed at the sword on his back. “If it weren’t for this legendary sword, who knew if you would have come back alive? Are you really even worthy?”

 

If this was the olden days, Seijuro would have been lashed in front of everyone, shamed until he had no spirit left. But his father was aging, the times had changed, and despite his words, there wasn’t really anyone else fit to lead them into this wars. The other human clans have already conceded to this fact. If Akashi Seijuro failed, then even more so would the others.

 

“Go back to the Memorial Hall and reflect. Ask forgiveness from the souls you have failed. Make sure that when you step out of that place, you’ve carved into your soul what it means to get defeated and that you would know how not to experience it again.”

 

Seijuro didn’t know how he was able to bring himself back to his room. The moment from the floor of the main hall to the floor of the Memorial Hall seemed like a quiet blur. When he came to the realization that he was already alone and that Shintaro was calling his attention in his mind, he started to laugh.

 

Blood still stained his clothes, a mix of their enemies’ and his comrades’. He didn’t even have a wound, all because Shintaro saved him in time. Without him, would he have been able to escape at all? Without Shintaro, he actually would have been long dead.

 

“I’m worthless,” he said quietly, his laughter fading in the empty hall, “I’m nothing without a legendary weapon. I’m nothing without a victory. I’m nothing without my name. I’m nothing. I’m nobody.”

 

The weight on his back lightened, soft cold wind swirled around him. Suddenly, he was enveloped between two firm arms on his front, a warm body giving him assurance. Shintaro’s long hair fell over Seijuro’s back. Their faces were only inches apart.

 

“You are wrong,” he said again. This time, his voice was low but clear, not anymore echoing inside his mind, stirring his heart anew, “Not everyone define you by your losses and your triumphs, as you should not be. You are Seijuro - the kid who kept a lonely sword company for days without fail, treating it like a human being, like a friend; the teenager determined to be the best version of himself, training both mind and body; the adult that leads his people with all his best, knowing when to pursue or to retreat, having the makings of the greatest fighter and leader in history. This is the Seijuro I know, and you must know him, too.”

 

Seijuro started to calm his breath, Shintaro’s words acting like a healing salve to his wounded ego. He became more aware of the arms comforting him, of the fact that for the first time in many years, Shintaro had called him by his name.

 

He pushed Shintaro a bit away from him then, yet he still held on to this arms, meeting his emerald eyes. By some inexplicable force, Seijuro reached up, cupping the sides of Shintaro’s face with his own surprisingly steady hands. For so long, he had been drowning in his life as the succeeding chief of the clan and for being a prestigious Akashi. The name Seijuro attached to him since birth became the heavy anchor from which he could not remove himself from. He didn’t know since when, but it felt like he had been holding his breath for far too long. He needed air.

 

Seijuro moved forward, landing a hesitant lip over Shintaro’s. To his surprise, Shintaro responded right away, opening his own mouth further, giving his upper lip a light lick. At that point, Seijuro lost all his reservations. He pressed further, weaving his left hand along Shintaro’s hair, his right hand grabbing the back of Shintaro’s neck as he hungrily savored the moment. 

 

Yet Shintaro didn’t feel like overwhelming at all. His hands that held Seijuro by his waist were firm but gentle, touching him as if he was the most precious treasure in the whole world. His lips were as gentle as the lap of the waves against the shore, ferrying him from the bottom of the boundless ocean.

 

Seijuro had never felt so content.

 

So this was how it felt like to be saved.

  
  
  


Ever since that moment, Shintaro lived his days in his human form, much to everyone else’s surprise. He would always appear behind Seijuro, walking alongside him, seeming like an Emperor’s advisor. Even Seijuro’s father was speechless at this development and he never dared say a demeaning word again towards Seijuro.

 

Shintaro had long harbored a soft affection towards Seijuro. After all, who in the past hundred of years actually took the time to visit a desolate sword in the basement and tell them of the most trivial things? Even when Seijuro grew up and started carrying him on his back, his motivation to train just to be worthy to wield him impressed Shintaro. Though he might be a sword spirit, he still had a heart that could be moved.

 

When Shintaro saved him from certain death on that day he finally turned to his human form again, he has no other intention in mind. If Seijuro had died that day, he didn’t know if anyone else could wield him. Half of him wanted to remain dormant, but this other half was effectively convinced by Seijuro that he’s worth waking up for.

 

Over the years, Seijuro had proven that he really was worth it.

 

The duo that was Akashi Seijuro and the legendary sword Shintaro became a fearsome force in the battlefield in no time. Their names were soon equated with victory. No matter the force, no matter the ability, no matter the strategy, no matter how difficult things would appear to be, the two of them led the clan to win against them every single time. It was no question when they got the nickname “The Miracle Combination”. 

  
  
  


“Can you please stop staring?” Seijuro broke through his reverie, a small smile lining his lips, “It is quite distracting.”

 

They were holed up in Seijuro’s room, finalizing the troop redistribution they had conjured up together. After almost a decade of battles, Seijuro was almost near his goal of unifying the land under one rule. The mermaids have made a mutually beneficial deal about the jurisdiction on the Western Sea. The mountain creatures finally realized that they would have a higher chance to survive and thrive if they let others interact with them, and the ice people finally let go of their thousand year-old grudge. This was the same goal the previous Seijuro had, except that this present Seijuro addressed it with a much solid plan and a much clearer mind.

 

After the complete defeat in the port town, Seijuro and Shintaro came to reorganize their whole strategy. It turned out to be highly effective. They were finally able to subdue the most violent mermaids, and they made peace with those that were willing to create it. Right now, only one clan was left, and then they could celebrate probably another hundred years of peace. 

 

“If my stare alone can already distract you, then you might have to reconsider fighting in the field,” Shintaro jested, knowing all too well that when it comes to the things that matter, Seijuro would be the last one to get himself shaken by the most trivial things. 

 

“Being brave now, are we?”

 

Shintaro scooted closer to Seijuro and the map they were working on. The territory of the fire wielder clan remained the only one unmarked.

 

“What’s wrong?” Seijuro asked, noticing something was off within the short period of silence. “Is there any matter about the fire wielders?”

 

“Do you know how us sword spirits come to be?” 

 

Seijuro thought for a while, juggling in his mind the previous legends he had learned. Though he and Shintaro had been together for years, it was actually a wonder why the topic of the fire wielders never came in between them, nor was his creation.

 

“From what I know, the metal is melted at a really high temperature, and once it's heated up enough, an animal sacrifice would be waiting to be slain by the slightly molten sword. There is a certain incantation that must be orated, and however strong the sword spirit is would depend on the intensity of sacrifice and the skill of the smith.”

 

“Animal sacrifice, is that how they teach it these days?”

 

“Is it more than that?”

 

“So much more. The previous Seijuro was my wielder, but my sword smith was from the fire wielder clan. Seijuro was able to have me because of his connection with the fire wielders back then. Only the heat from their magma could create such a high quality sword.”

 

“And the matter about the sacrifice?” Somehow, Seijuro already knew the answer even before Shintaro said it, a heavy weight dragging on his heart.

 

“The fire wielders...they have a collection of humans especially living to be sacrifices in their life. They are well-cared for, knowing nothing of their eventual fate. When it's their time, they are separated from the other potential sacrifices, being made to believe that they are being sent out on an important mission. Little did they know, they will be melted with the steel in the boiling magma.”

 

At this point, Seijuro's arms were already around Shintaro's waist, hugging him tightly in some semblance of comfort. It was a worthless action, he knew. He couldn't even begin to imagine the suffering Shintaro had gone through to be made into a sword spirit.

 

“Did _he_ know?”

 

“He did. It was a long-standing thorn between us,” Shintaro let out a sigh, patting his head gently, “Anyway, it's not what I was trying to say. The fire wielders are masters of creating swords with spirits. When the old Seijuro fell from power, his alliance with them dissipated, too. They've cut off their connection from outside. Who knows how much they've developed this ancient technique? How much sword spirits would be there? You have to consider this in distributing your troops and where to lead the battle.”

 

Seijuro kept his arm around Shintaro, nodding slightly. “You are the only sword spirit in our hand. Could you handle a situation like it when the time comes?”

 

A gentle finger lands on Seijuro’s chin, tilting his head up. Eyes that were as green as the fields they fight on met eyes that were as red as the blood that soon soaked them. In this small distance connected by their breaths, a promise of a lifetime was made.

 

“As long as I'm around, I will always give you victory.”

 

But a god's plan was greater than that of either a human's or a sword spirit's.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic and the world I built here was highly inspired from the novel of my current favorite Chinese webnovel author, Priest. That work is 烈火浇愁(Liè Huǒ Jiāo Chóu). The clans were /loosely/ based from that too...the geography in this fic is still based on Japan though some inaccuracies could be there ;;
> 
>  
> 
> I promise to post the other half on MidoAka Day....I just don't know if the 6/4 MidoAka Day or the 7/4 MidoAka Day ;_; I swear I already have a plan for this, I just really ran out of time for AkaMido Day ///lies down. Really just had the idea to write this the day before April (this is the akamido in my blood telling me I still have to write for them ahahah)


End file.
